


A Flame in Your Heart

by jamgrl



Series: An Angel's Demon [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 1940s, 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angst, Attraction, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Dancing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Footnotes, Historical References, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jazz Age, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Swing Dancing, World War II, soft!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 10:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamgrl/pseuds/jamgrl
Summary: Taking place directly following our Blitz scene from the show, Aziraphale has some internal struggles with his feelings as he spends some more time with our favorite demon! If you like unrelieved sexual tension and sad pining, thismightbe the fic for you.----“I’m going to teach you the Lindy Hop. It’s one of these modern dances the Americans have brought over. It’s what everyone is doing at the parties these days.” Crowley said all this without looking up from the gramophone as he put the record called “Blue Champagne” on the player without placing the needle down to start it.“Never heard of it,” Aziraphale said.





	A Flame in Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/ccdugpg463i3hr2xrkiawonkt/playlist/6n5cktAk3WM4G3rFK1BD5S?si=odfDwNbFRoulxvWhENpMDQ) to go along with this fic! I tried to make it so you can play it along while you are reading. All the music would have existed in 1941 (except for the Pride and Prejudice song- that's in there because I tried to find actual gavotte music and I didn't like any of it, lol.)! I spent an inordinate amount of time listening to the 1940 and 1941 top 100 Billboard listings. Enjoy!

**London 1941**

Lift home?”

Aziraphale watched numbly as Crowley brushed past him through the ruins of the church. It took Aziraphale a few moments to gain enough of his senses to follow after him. When he made it to the street and a Bentley came into view, he could see that Crowley was standing on the passenger side holding the door open.

Aziraphale hurried over and tentatively hobbled into the passenger seat, hugging the bag of books to his chest as Crowley shut the door and circled around to the driver’s side. He had never ridden with Crowley before. Crowley easily slid into the driver’s seat, jazz music coming through the car radio and intermingling with the sound of air raid sirens as he started the car.

Aziraphale couldn’t really process what he was feeling, other than numb shock, but he quickly didn’t have to think about it, because, with a lurch, the Bentley was racing through London and the only thing Aziraphale could focus on was finding anywhere in the car to grab ahold of with one hand while maintaining his clutch on the books with the other, his hat forgotten, tumbling to the car floor in the excitement and confusion. Eyes squeezed shut and breath held, Aziraphale barely noticed the sirens or the jazz for the rest of the ride.

Almost as quickly as it had started, the car came to a jolting stop, Aziraphale’s torso flinging forward and doubling over the bag of books. He stayed doubled over, waiting for another jolt. When a few moments passed and he trusted that the car wouldn’t start again, he straightened up and adjusted his bowtie, catching his breath. He glanced sideways at Crowley and saw that he was looking at him with one hand on the steering wheel and one arm stretched behind the passenger seat, that arm just inches away from Aziraphale’s face. There was something tantalizing about that. Where did that thought come from? Aziraphale silently reprimanded himself for having such a thought and turned his eyes to the bag in his lap, squirming in his seat awkwardly.

“We’re here,” Crowley said, when Aziraphale still hadn’t made any moves to get out of the car. 

The last thing he wanted to do was to say goodbye.

“Er- yes, right.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. “Thank you,” he said softly, receiving only an angry hiss in response. “Sorry. Forgot myself. Would you- erm- would you like to come inside?” Crowley arched an eyebrow. The hand not behind Aziraphale’s seat was gripping the wheel casually. Aziraphle fixed his stare at that hand as he continued. “I mean, for a drink? I’ve got some Châteauneuf-du-pape I haven’t tried yet, inside, you know, and you like wine, don’t you? So if you, I mean, if you wanted to come in and—"

“Alright,” Crowley cut him off. And with that, Crowley was out of the car stretching.

“Right,” Aziraphale muttered to himself as he stumbled out of the car, making sure not to leave his hat.

They made their way inside, Aziraphale switching on the dim lights as they meandered through the bookshop to the backroom. When they had each hung their hats and coats on Aziraphale’s coat rack and the books were tucked somewhere safe, Aziraphale produced two glasses and one of his treasured bottles.

“I haven’t opened any of these yet. Saving them for special occasions, you know, and I suppose this is an occasion special as any—"

“Sounds delightful,” Crowley, who was already balancing on the arm of Aziraphale’s plush couch, responded.

Aziraphale was nominally aware that Crowley might be teasing him, but he preferred not to think so. Instead, he chose to be pleased by this response and moved to begin happily uncorking the wine.

Each of them with wine in hand, Aziraphale settled into his armchair, feeling pleasantly warm seeing Crowley sitting across from him. He was quite relieved that they could spend some time together and be friendly after everything that had been said in 1862. It had been so awkward after that, neither of them had reached out. 

For the past 80 or so years, it had been as if the Arrangement had been put on hold. It wasn’t that they were thwarting each other, no, but they were no longer covering for each other, either. No longer meeting up for any secret rendezvous. All told, Aziraphale hadn’t caught hide or hair of Crowley since that last meeting at St. James Park. 

Aziraphale had told himself it was for the best: he could focus on miracles and blessings and Crowley was surely just off somewhere making some mischief that Aziraphale shouldn’t want anything to do with. Yes, it was for the best, distancing himself from a demon. He should never have been working with him in the first place!

Except that Crowley was a ridiculous sort of demon. Not particularly devilish, actually. He made it out like he was lazy or that nobody understood his strokes of genius, but Aziraphale thought that wasn’t the whole story. It seemed, sometimes, like he cared about humans. And, maybe not just humans. He had put himself at risk to save Aziraphale before. Granted, maybe Aziraphale just wanted to believe that, because he was such pleasant company and Aziraphale couldn’t help but want to spend time with him. Perhaps it was a very wrong thing to want.

But the way he surprised him this time- they hadn’t been speaking! Aziraphale thought they weren’t even friends anymore! And yet, there he was in that church. In physical pain!

Well, it _was_ in character for him. He was always so reckless.[1]

But then there were the books- Crowley couldn’t care less about books, he had made that much clear. And yet he must have known how much they meant to Aziraphale. 

Could he actually care?[2] About more than just the Arrangement or their social meetings? More than just convenience and occasional merriment? Was this thing they had more than some strange illicit friendship that they both tried to hide?

Aziraphale could feel his eyes watering and he realized he hadn’t even touched his wine. Crowley, who was already helping himself to more, must have noticed because as he was putting the wine bottle back on the coffee table, he paused to look at him. 

“Angel? Alright?”

“Oh, yes dear,” Aziraphale responded, wiping his eyes quickly. “It’s just, you know, the war and all.”

“Oh. Yes,” Crowley responded somberly.

“What, um, what have you been up to?” Aziraphale asked it automatically, hoping to deflect from whatever his face was likely betraying, but once he said it, he wasn’t actually sure he wanted to know the answer to his question. Crowley had seemed offended when Aziraphale accused him of working with the Nazis, but even if he wasn’t directly involved, if he had done anything that would make people suffer more during these trying times, even a little bit- Aziraphale didn’t think he could stomach it.

“Not much, really,” Crowley said casually. “I haven’t had to do anything for Head Office. The humans are committing plenty of evil by themselves right now. Spent some time in the countryside, though.” Crowley took a long sip of wine.

“Hmm,” is all Aziraphale said in response. He squinted at Crowley with suspicion.

Crowley sat up, eyes wide, hands up to defend himself, as if to say _I’m innocent. _“I’ve not been involved! Really!”

“What were you doing in the countryside?” Aziraphale asked, crossing his arms, taking care not to spill his wine. He wasn’t sure why he was interrogating Crowley. He was meant to be here as a friend.

“_Euughh_. Wha- Well- Ye- _you_ know, there’s all those _farms_ out there, growing food for the war effort, you know how I like plants, and I wanted to go see them, putter about, see how they were doing, lend a hand now and again. And all the children are out there and I just wanted to nip by, check in on them—" Crowley then stopped his flustered speech, his mouth agape in horror as if he had realized he had said too much. For Aziraphale, on the other hand, nothing Crowley could have said or done could have offered quite as much of a sense of relief and general fondness towards his friend.

“You know, you really are—"

“_Don’t _finish that sentence.”

Aziraphale closed his mouth and just smiled smugly.

“What have _you_ been doing, other than getting yourself into trouble?” Crowley snapped.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, I’ve been trying my best to help. Perhaps I haven’t been doing the best job, as tonight would suggest. However, I have managed to help some families gain safe passage here by helping their boats along, things like that. Helped with forged paperwork for those who need it. A bookshop is a great place to work on things like that. It’s dreadful, what’s going on now, though. It seems there is no end in sight. I’m not sure there is anything I can do, really, that will make a big enough difference.” Aziraphale felt the sadness of the whole affair welling up inside him. “It all feels rather hopeless.”

“Don’t feel that way,” Crowley said, in a way that was criminally soft. “I’m sure that’s not true. Whatever you are doing, even if it helps just a few people, it’s making a difference, I’m certain of it.”

“Thank you, dear, that’s kind of you to say.” Crowley didn’t hiss or make any remarks about Aziraphale’s use of the words “thank you” or “kind”. Maybe he knew this was too sensitive of a subject to make a show of it.

“Come on then, let’s not let the mood go down like this,” Crowley said, springing to his feet. “We are celebrating, remember? Not getting discorporated. It’s a special occasion, like you said! I’ve got something in my car that could lift our spirits.” 

“And what would that be?” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley. Crowley, his dear friend. They had gone through so much together, Earth’s biggest triumphs and tragedies. It was so very nice to have him in the bookshop. Just his presence had a calming effect on the angel.

“Records, Angel. Probably more upbeat than whatever lot you’ve got, anyways. Proper dancing music.”

Aziraphale acted like he was affronted by that comment, though he wasn’t _really_. Crowley’s jibe was more in line with their usual bickering and Aziraphale was happy to play along, glad for the distraction. “My music is upbeat! And perfectly fine for dancing. I’ve got a few records somewhere that aren’t half bad for a little gavotte—"

“What in Satan’s name is a gavotte?”

“Oh, my dear, it was all the rage in the 1880’s. I thought you always kept up with the latest fashions?” Aziraphale asked in mock shock.

“Must have missed that one while I was napping...”

“Napping? What do you mean, you slept through the whole decade?” Aziraphale asked, actually shocked this time.

“Something like that.” [3]

“Whatever for?”

“Ngg- doesn’t matter. I like sleeping. Anyways, I want to hear more about this gavotte. I thought angels didn’t dance.”

“Well, I suppose we don’t, usually—"

“But you’ve always been a rebel,” Crowley quipped.

“I’m not a _rebel_, Crowley. Anyways, there is nothing sinful about dancing.”

“Not sure everyone would agree with that.”

“Hmph.”

They were both silent for a moment, Aziraphale pouting dramatically and Crowley trying to hide a smirk.

“You know,” Crowley started, his voice low and slow (almost sultry- no, not sultry. Bad angel.), “I’d hate to think I missed out on something like- what was it, again?”

“The gavotte.”

“Right, that. You could show me...”

Aziraphale perked up at the thought. He hadn’t gotten to dance the gavotte in some time, after he had gotten so good at it, too. He felt a bit like Crowley was mocking him, but he had just saved him from being discorporated, hadn’t he? And it hadn’t been the first time. It was all in good fun, surely. And this _would_ be a good way to lift his spirits.

“Well, alright. But you have to dance it with me. It’s not exactly a solo dance. I’ll show you some basic steps—"

“Okay. Fine. But then you have to let me bring in _my_ music and I’ll show you some _modern_ dancing.”

Aziraphale huffed.

“Come on, Angel. Fair is fair.”

“Oh, alright then.”

“You might like it, you know.”

“We’ll see about that.”

~~~

Crowley was actually a good sport about the gavotte. He picked it up quickly.[4]

They were laughing and dancing, arms linked, and Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much fun. They had probably been at it for at least an hour when one of the records finished and Aziraphale collapsed on his armchair for a break, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe sweat off his brow. Crowley sat on the edge of the coffee table, leaning back on his hands.

They were both positively disheveled, down to their dress shirts, which were untucked in places, suspenders hanging at their sides, hair mussed, ties loosened, Crowley’s sunglasses long abandoned.

“Have to admit, Aziraphale—" Crowley said, between panting breaths[5]. “You’re not a bad dancer.” Aziraphale was feeling a bit hot and it was possible it wasn’t just from the exercise. “For an angel,” Crowley added, as if as an after thought.

“I really only know the one dance,” Aziraphale responded, sheepishly.

“Well, we will just have to put you to the test, then, won’t we?”

“Oh no.”

“Oh _yes_.” Crowley leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “You already agreed.” Then he hopped to his feet. “Be right back, Angel!” Crowley smiled wickedly before practically skipping out of the door in excitement.

As a result, Aziraphale was left alone in his chair to panic. The gavotte with Crowley had been fun, but now there was potential for embarrassment, especially now that he knew that Crowley was actually a good dancer.

Hold on, why was it that he was concerned about being embarrassed? No one else was here. But Crowley could be relentless when he teased. And, for some reason, his good opinion mattered just a little more than usual tonight.

Crowley returned brandishing a stack of records with names on them like “Jimmy Dorsey” and “Glenn Miller”.

“What’s this? That new bebop people are on about?”

“Actually, no, bebop isn’t great for dancing. Though we can play some after, if you really want. This is more big band stuff- so maybe you’ll like it, it’s not that different from orchestral stuff, I suppose.[6] I mean, we don’t have to play any of these if you don’t want—"[7]

“No, no, I did agree, as you said.”

“Right.” Crowley made his way to the gramophone. “I’m going to teach you the Lindy Hop. It’s one of these modern dances the Americans have brought over. It’s what everyone is doing at the parties these days.” Crowley said all this without looking up from the gramophone as he put the record called “Blue Champagne” on the player without placing the needle down to start it.

“Never heard of it,” Aziraphale said. Crowley chuckled.

“Course not. We will practice the steps first and then we can try with music.” With a little more confidence now, Crowley faced Aziraphale and held out his left hand. Aziraphale gathered up his courage and got to his feet to stand before Crowley and take his hand with his right.

It felt a little awkward having his hand in Crowley’s, but Crowley’s grip was firm and warm. They were just a foot apart now. Crowley smelled a bit like soot mixed with- what was that, some kind of aftershave? Nothing was happening yet and Aziraphale realized that Crowley had his other hand out and was waiting for Aziraphale to take that one, too.

“Right. So, first things first. Um, I’ll lead, if that’s okay.”

“Lead?”

“Yeah, you know, it’s a partner dance? People don’t really do group dances anymore.”

“Partner dance?”

“Yeah, like, you know, uhh,” Crowley seemed to need to think for a second, staring past Aziraphale’s head until he started again, looking down at their hands. “Like have you seen a waltz?” Aziraphale thought about his question. Yes, he’d seen a waltz. He remembered when it had come into fashion- very scandalous at the time.

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, this isn’t really anything like that, but, you know, partners.”

Aziraphale swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Right. Yes.” He tried to maintain his gaze firmly on Crowley but then those yellow eyes were piercing his and it was all Aziraphale could do to not look away.

Crowley spoke again, gently and deliberately, like he was trying not to spook a skittish horse. “I’m going to put your hand on my shoulder. Is that okay?” His eyes were searching, hesitant. Aziraphale felt as though he couldn’t move for a moment. He certainly couldn’t think. He gave a slight nod and let his eyes follow their hands as Crowley gently lifted them and slowly brought Aziraphale’s left hand to his own right shoulder, pressing it firmly into place. 

Crowley’s shirt was slightly damp where Aziraphale was now touching it. Crowley’s hand, which was simultaneously firm and gentle, came below Aziraphale’s elbow and lifted, sending tingles up his arm. “You’ll want to keep your arm in this upright position. Firm, you know? My arm will be underneath. I’m going to, er, is this okay?” Crowley asked as he slid his arm below Aziraphale’s, stopping just when his hand hovered over his back. Aziraphale nodded again and felt Crowley’s hand make contact with his shoulder blade, feeling the coolness of his own sweaty shirt pressed against his skin. It felt a bit sticky and uncomfortable, and yet Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley’s hand to move.

Crowley gently swung their other arms where they were still holding hands. “We’ll keep these arms low and casual, holding hands like this, but we still want tension in our arms. So if I were to push you-“ Crowley pushed Aziraphale’s arm back a little, “you should give me resistance. It’s kind of like, erm, as if your arm were a tightrope- well, not straight like a tightrope, but maybe like you’ve got a string connecting your hand to your shoulder, so if I push, the signal goes to your shoulder rather than just your arm. Does that make sense?”

“Not really, no.”

“Hmm. Give me a push, then.” Aziraphale gently pushed his hand forward and could feel Crowley pushing back slightly but moving his body in response to the push.

“Feel the resistance?”

“Yes. I think I get it.”

“Good. That will let me direct you a bit, when we are moving. Okay. Feet. Our feet will mirror each other. So, I’ll start with my left and you your right. We start by doing a side step. So step to the right,” Crowley said as he stepped with his left foot, “then bring your other foot in and step again. So, it’s step-together-step to each side.” They tried that together a few times, Aziraphale focused very resolutely on their feet, trying very hard to ignore the way Crowley’s rolled up shirt was brushing his bare forearm or the way that hand felt pressed against his back. “So after you do that twice, you step back with your leading foot, so in your case, the right, and then forward with the other. Sort of a rock back. And then go back to the side steps.” Aziraphale tripped a little trying to copy Crowley, but Crowley held him up firmly, keeping him from falling. “Alright?” Aziraphale nodded. He tried to ignore the rapid beating in his chest.

They practiced more and when Aziraphale felt he had a handle on it, they were stepping in tandem and then Crowley was turning him easily. Crowley showed him a few more simple moves. It felt so easy to be doing this with him. He could do this all night.

“Music?” Right. Aziraphale nodded. Aziraphale was painfully aware of Crowley’s hands leaving him as he made his way back to the gramophone to start playing the record. The lively music filled up the bookshop’s backroom. It felt warm, somehow, if music can feel warm.

Aziraphale stayed in place and waited for Crowley to return, but he only turned at the gramophone to face him. “Do you like it?”

Aziraphale surprised even himself by saying, “I think I rather do.” That earned a sort of shy smile from Crowley, who then returned to Aziraphale so they could resume their position.

And then they were dancing.

And Aziraphale was thinking about when they met on the garden wall, and the times they had met since, and all the ways Crowley defied expectations again and again.

Aziraphale couldn’t have explained it, but he felt happier then than he had in a long while.

He felt so comfortable with Crowley. He hadn’t realized how much his absence had affected him.

And here he was now. 

The way Crowley looked, that red hair radiant as ever. The way he always looked, hair and clothes often in different styles, but each of them so wonderfully _Crowley._

The way he had looked earlier tonight– handsome and dapper– in a church, of all places, jumping up and down—

And then he remembered something else from that night.

“So. Anthony?” he asked with his brows raised, feeling the corners of his lips turning up. With that, Crowley cracked a wide smile of his own and all the previous awkwardness was broken.

“Better than A. Z. Fell.”

“Pish, posh. A. Z. Fell is perfectly fine.”

“If you say so.”

They chuckled a bit at that.

Crowley chose that moment to attempt a spin they had not practiced and rather botched the attempt, to which they both started laughing, unable to start the dancing again. They had come apart, but Crowley was still holding Aziraphale’s hand.

Their hands stayed together, even when the laughter died down. Aziraphale didn’t want to let go. Crowley gazed at their hands and lightly brushed his thumb over Aziraphale’s knuckles. “You should see it, Angel,” he said, dreamily. “The dancing. What these humans have come up with…" They stood there for a while, neither daring to move. Crowley’s grip loosened and his hand tracing ever so slowly up to Aziraphale’s wrist until he was holding it lightly, gently stroking with his thumb, sending electricity through Aziraphale’s body. “We could go. You and I.”

Aziraphale’s throat felt completely closed up. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, but this was suddenly feeling like rather more than he expected and, as good as Crowley’s hand felt, and as much as Aziraphale really didn’t want him to stop, there was Heaven and Hell to think about, and he wasn’t sure how he felt, anyways, or how he should respond, or what any of this might mean, or what Crowley intentions even were, and he certainly couldn’t let these foreign feelings bubbling up in his chest allow him to do_ anything_ that could _possibly_ put Crowley at risk, or allow _Crowley_ to do anything that could put _himself_ at risk, and shouldn’t he really say something and put a stop to this? “It’s, um, it’s rather late—" Aziraphale managed to croak.

Crowley let go of his wrist like his hand burned, eyes going wide. “Right.” He rubbed his hand against his thigh and looked anywhere but at Aziraphale. Aziraphale felt guilty for startling him. Maybe he hadn’t realized what he had been doing. He tried to smooth over the awkwardness by continuing to talk.

“It’s just, well, I have quite a bit of work to do, and, what, with the war on—"

“Yeah, yeah. Course. Me too,” Crowley rushed to say as he started gathering his various clothing items.

“We could, you know, next time we need somewhere inconspicuous to meet, we could go,” Aziraphale was saying desperately, hoping for Crowley to slow down and look at him. Hoping for him not to run out. “To one of those dance clubs. See the dancing. Loud, I’m sure. Not a bad place for a clandestine meeting.” But he couldn’t slow him down.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure, Angel,” he said, distractedly making his way to the exit. Aziraphale followed him out into the shop.

“Crowley, your records!”

“You keep them,” he said, as he slipped out the door and into the night.

Aziraphale felt sort of like he was a balloon that had had all of the air forced out of it. Crowley had been out the door in a flash. The bookshop felt hollow and too big with him gone. Like the whole shop was just a big empty shell with nothing to fill it.

The gramophone was making that awful sound they make when a record has run out. It sounded eerie.

Aziraphale couldn’t understand why he felt this way. These were _not _the type of feelings angels were meant to have. _Certainly _not with regards to a _demon._

There had to be something wrong with him.

Maybe he had been on Earth too long, spent too much time with humans. Maybe he was feeling lonely. He was alone, after all. Very alone. The only angel living his days on earth as humans came and went. 

And yet, he never wanted to return to Heaven. No. Something kept him rooted here. Humans had a way of living and Aziraphale wanted to live as much like them as he could. Grab the bull by the horns, so to speak, and never let go. 

Still, he was lonely. Something felt missing, off.

Maybe he wanted the partnership he saw so many humans have with each other, spending their lives together. Someone to share earth’s joys with. Someone to count on. With everything going on lately, the importance of family for humans was really beginning to strike a chord with him. How come angels didn’t have that?

Angels were not _supposed_ to have that. 

Maybe he was starting to realize that he _did_ have that and it was with a certain enemy that wasn’t actually an enemy at all.

Only, he and Crowley couldn’t have what humans had. It was too dangerous. It was dangerous enough as it was with how frequently they saw each other.

And anyways, how could he expect Crowley to want the same thing? A demon couldn’t possibly even begin to care about an angel. And yet, everything about the events of that night was telling Aziraphale otherwise.

Still, it was much better to continue what they had, however distant, however casual, if it meant Crowley stood less risk of being lost to oblivion.

Worst of all, Aziraphale felt guilty for having these thoughts at all. For caring so much. His loyalty should have been to Heaven and Heaven alone. All of these complicated emotions just muddled everything.

They never did meet at a dance club. Not even after the war was over. In fact, it wouldn’t be until 1967 that they would see each other again. It was the fear of losing the single most important being in Aziraphale’s life that would finally force him to close the distance to give Crowley the one thing he didn’t want to give him and hope beyond hope that he didn’t do anything reckless.

How can you live a life knowing the one thing you want more than anything you can’t have? You _shouldn’t_ have.

Aziraphale never lost the records. Every now and again, when he was feeling particularly melancholy, he would play them and think fondly about a certain demon. Think about dancing, remember those hands, imagine being in those arms- hours could be spent daydreaming.

Though he could never admit to it. Certainly not to Crowley.[8]

_"And if I broke your heart last night, _

_it’s because I Iove you most of all."_

_-The Mills Brothers, You Always Hurt the One You Love_

\---------

[1] Crowley might have said the same thing about Aziraphale, especially considering that time he had put himself in danger for a _craving. _But Aziraphale wasn’t to know that and, anyways, people do tend to worry for others more than they do for themselves, especially if the others in question are those that are cared for deeply.

[2] He could.

[3] He had slept through more than just a decade. Which might explain why Aziraphale hadn’t heard whispers of him in some time.

[4] Most demons may be terrible dancers as a rule, _but_ most demons aren’t Crowley and, more importantly, most demons don’t have human teachers. Crowley had always been quite drawn to parties and so he had learned many a dance in these past millennia.

[5] The sound of his name in Crowley’s mouth made Aziraphale feel fluttery, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe it was that he had become so accustomed to “Angel” that “Aziraphale” felt somehow more intimate. Maybe it was just the way Crowley said it, like he was tasting a full-bodied wine.

[6] It shared very little with the “orchestral stuff” Aziraphale was used to other than there being lots of instruments playing.

[7] If Aziraphale had been more observant, he may have noticed that Crowley was beginning to fidget with uncertainty.

[8] Not for a while, anyways. Quite a few events would need to take place, first.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to imagine that Aziraphale and Crowley took up swing dancing and got really good after the apoca-nope and danced like [ this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mpp2ezjo1e8&app=desktop) at Anathema and Newt's wedding.
> 
> PS. Apologies to any actual swing dancers out there. I _have_ taken some East Coast swing lessons, but I wouldn't be surprised if I butchered something.


End file.
